


you're a dream to me

by panchostokes (badwolfrun)



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Blow Jobs, F/M, I really don't know what else to tag this as sorry lmao, Light Angst, Nick eats out, Oral Sex, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:28:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26051158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfrun/pseuds/panchostokes
Summary: Nick convinces his wife to take a break from her obsessive investigation and have a night of intimacy that they haven't had in far too long.
Relationships: Nick Stokes/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	you're a dream to me

**Author's Note:**

> I swear to you...this...came out of NOWHERE.  
> But is also partially inspired out of a picture on tumblr, a comment made by deltajackdalton after I made some tags, and then more tags I made in response to that.  
> Bless.

“You work too hard.”

Nick’s voice cuts through the dissonant hum in her head, making Naomi release a breath she didn’t even realize she was keeping in before she whips her head away from her laptop. Her eyes adjust to focus on the shimmering blur of Nick’s body, engulfed in an inverted glow that fizzles and fades, clearing up the bristles of his beard, the grid pattern of his plaid shirt tightened by crossed arms, almost as tight as the jeans that outline the contour of his legs. 

She leans back in the chair, stretching out her arms and running them through her hair as she squeezes the tears out of suddenly weary eyes. She feels the burn in her back from her improper posture, feels the dryness in her throat from dehydration as explained by the numerous coffee mugs surrounding her workspace, feels the heaviness in her heart because she doesn’t know what happened to the victims, can’t give their families an answer, can’t lay their souls to rest, but she does know what’s happening here, now. 

She’s getting distracted.

“I know,” she gulps hard as he walks up behind her, and begins to knead her shoulders with his fingers, planting a kiss on the top of her disturbed hair. Her fingers climb up his neck and onto his own hair, scratching the top of his head to which he responds with a purring hum. 

She releases him from her grip and his head rolls towards the hands, chasing them but she pulls herself closer to the desk.

His massage slows to a halt, freeing his hands to lower down, wrap around her chest, hugging her and the chair closer to him as he digs his head into her shoulder. She allows a small smile as she tilts her head so that he can kiss her neck, but in between kisses he wafts his head upwards, towards her ear--his breath tickles and she purses an embarrassing noise between her lips. 

“Take a break,” he whispers.

“I want to,” she admits, hooking one hand on one of the arm bars in front of her. 

“Come away with me then,” he drawls as he moves his head to the other side of her body. 

“Where to, cowboy?” she laughs. “Need I remind you that you have a lab to run and I have a serial killer to catch?”

“Well, I figure the grand ol’ pastures of our bed would be a decent enough stomping ground,” she can feel his smile on the back of her neck. 

“You haven’t been sleeping there much…” he adds in a sadder whisper. 

“I know. I’m sorry,” she tenses up suddenly, her eyes sting as she’s reminded how _exhausted_ she is, and how much love she hasn’t received, or bestowed herself, for that matter. 

“You don’t gotta be--Just an...observation and I just...wanna make sure you’re okay,” Nick’s voice pitches upwards, suddenly she feels cold as he rises away, but he swivels her chair around and kneels on the ground, placing his hands on her knees. “I know what happens when-when you take work home with ya.” 

His eyes are wide, shining, his lips puckered in a slight pout. 

_Fuck._

She reaches a hand out, cups his cheek in her hand as her thumb strokes the crinkles of his skin. He leans into her palm with a gentle rocking sway, goading her with the pleasure he _knows_ she wants, knows she needs. 

He’s all her’s. 

And she’s all his.

She reaches her other hand behind her, leaning back and snapping the laptop shut. The trail had gone cold and so had she. 

And what better warmth is there than wrapped in the beefy, toned arms of Nick Stokes?

She slides off the chair, falls onto the floor but he catches her, and she catches his ear-to-ear grin before she matches it with her own, and their lips meet each other in a perfect fit. 

He gets to his feet, she wraps her legs around his waist as he starts to carry her around. She giggles as he has to set her on various pieces of furniture to readjust, the kitchen counter, the end table in the hall, the doorframe to the bedroom. All the while, she whispers gentle taunts to get his drive going as he growls playful threats in response. 

“Those big arms of yours are doing quite a lot of work,” she points out as he hoists her up a few inches higher--his face just so happens to fall between her breasts and she can’t help but wonder if it was a purposeful adjustment. 

“All the better to hold you with, my dear,” he nuzzles the folds of her shirt open with his nose. 

She comes up with an adjustment of her own.

“Yeah, but I want to see what those _legs_ can do. More specifically…”

She jumps down, and bounces up to push him down into the armchair that sits in the corner of their bedroom for this very reason.

She doesn’t give Nick time to settle, she immediately slaps her hands onto his knees and slides them upwards.

“Those _thighs,”_ Naomi breathes, beginning a gentle massage of the large loaves of clothed flesh. 

“And what do you think they can do?” he dares her with a smirk, tossing his hands behind his head.

“Oh, I’ll show you, but I think we need to get these pesky jeans off, first,” Naomi teases, fingering Nick’s belt buckle.

He whines, especially when her finger dances down below the belt.

“If you’re a good boy, maybe I’ll let you take something off of me,” she proposes, tracing the open neck of her shirt, popping another button open.

“Go on, then,” Nick nods with a breathless sigh. 

She had already unlatched the belt at the word “go,” but she takes her time pulling the pants down, revealing the tight pair of boxer briefs that perfectly outline a bulging package that beckons to her, but as the path branches into two long, thick strips of legs she’s reminded of her original intention. 

“You see, the thing about thighs is that they’re the fattest part of the human body--and that’s not a bad thing--” she quickly adds, knowing Nick’s sensitivity about his body image, especially in his older years, as his metabolism fell behind him and stress bloats him. “Our bodies are not meant to be stone, they’re meant to be free-flowing, made up of mostly water, after all--and even when you’re _flexing--_ ” 

She reaches a hand up, pinching the toned arm exposing firm muscles while the other hand pulls his legs, coaxing him to shimmy to the edge of the chair.

“The _meatier_ parts of your body…” her tongue sticks out, washes over her lips as she suddenly feels hungry, and not necessarily for food.

She raises her hands, hovering them above as if she were going to cast some sort of spell--she doesn’t need to, he’s been under her spell ever since the night they met--he lifts his eyebrows.

A stifled hiss escapes through Nick’s teeth as the palm of Naomi’s hands slap onto the curve of his thighs. She watches as the reddened impact of her hands dissipates as the flesh waves from side to side.

“They _jiggle._ ” 

Nick’s own tongue begins to poke out before he bites down on his lower lip, he leans over, Naomi puffs her chest and tilts her chin, giving him the nonverbal cue to unbutton the rest of her shirt.

“Know what also _jiggles?_ ” he teases, putting on the air that he’s giving a lecture with his furrowing eyebrows and academic concentration. He reigns in his accent though there’s a high and tight squeak in his words, a primal plea to let him have his fun, and she lets him.

“What?” she gapes with the beginnings of a smile.

“Coconuts,” he uses more force with the last button, spreading the folds of her shirt apart, roughly pulling downward though it remains on her shoulders. 

His hands grab her waist and then glide up behind her back, unhooking her bra with ease. He then wraps around, sliding his fingers underneath her breasts before he starts to toss them up in alternating fashion. He’s entranced with his pseudo-juggling act as she peels off the rest of her shirt. 

She pushes closer, his lips part as his head tilts up towards her exposed nipple that he washes with his tongue, before moving to the other one.

“Mm...tasty,” he moans as he dips in between her breasts, resting his chin on her collarbone. She nuzzles her forehead against his, wafting her tongue over and tracing the crevices in his skin for a taste of her own. 

“Know what else is tasty?” she whispers, one finger strokes his unattended cheek, before traveling around his jaw and teasing the top button of his shirt off. 

“Hmm?” he groans, sucking on her earlobe.

“The ones that hang from _your_ tree…”

Her fingers grip the folds of his open shirt, she lifts him up, his head lolls behind and lunges forward as she rips the shirt apart, exposing his chest and the flatter pancakes that she places her hands on top of. She rubs them, feeling his nipples harden into the folds of her palm, and she begins to glide her hands down towards his crotch as she starts to devour his neck. 

She can feel a vein throb against her teeth. Tastes the rushing flow of blood. Smells the sweat beading from the pores of his skin. 

It only gets faster as she begins to peel away the tight fabric that covers up the hardening, shivering flesh beneath. 

She keeps it warm with one hand as his legs assist her in shaking off the final piece of his clothing, he flings it off with the tip of his foot, before she slides down his leg to kneel on the ground again. 

Her other hand, now free, grips his thigh for support as she moves her head closer to the warm--and rather smelly though she’ll hold back her disgust for the sake of love--region with the highest security. She’s a VIP who just got allowed into the most exclusive club, and the owner doesn’t place his trust very lightly. 

So she takes her time, feeling the quiver that quakes his body, a long instilled condition of hesitation that he’ll never quite be over, and he appreciates her patience with him as he quells the intrusive thoughts that make him whimper. Her tongue glides along his inner thigh, gently nibbling on the flabs of skin that pulse against her lips. 

“Balls’ getting cold,” he pants, restraining his hands with invisible bonds to the rests of the chair--he knows it’s not as much fun when he tries to help, for either of them, really. Knows she’ll get the job done and will be as thorough as she is efficient, but damn if he doesn’t get impatient when she gets distracted by the ham surrounding his femur.

“Let’s see what I can do about that…”

Her fingers gently lift the sac up, providing a pad of warmth as her other hand begins to pet the shaft above, which doesn’t need as much support but does need some tender strokes of encouragement.

And release.

Her lips travel from the thigh and her licks soften as she reaches the more sensitive pieces of flesh, moving away altogether as she stretches her mouth open, and engulfs the head of his cock with her lips, cycling it around her mouth with her tongue like a washing machine.

“Oh... _Ohhhhhhh….”_ he starts to moan and she feels his thighs tremble beneath her grip as she arches herself, slapping her palms down so hard she can almost feel the bone beneath the layers of skin. 

The rest of his legs wrap around the back of her thighs, she can feel his feet curl and a corner of her mouth twitches into a smile; she knows he’s about to cum and she’s more than ready to receive. 

The sticky, warm fluid squirts into the back of her throat and drips down like paint. She falls back, her lips linger on the tip, she licks up the last drop before she swallows a deep gulp of the pure essence of Nick Stokes, the full sight of which she takes in as she leans on her elbows. 

He had also fallen back, sinking into the chair and glistens in the warm glow of the lamp nearby. A smile teases his lips as his breath catches up to him, his chest rising and falling and destroying the facade that he was a statue of a greek god for her to admire--though oh, how she still admires the living figure that looms above her, from this perspective he’s as large and vast as a giant that could easily crush her (she wouldn’t mind) with the feet that uncoil themselves away, retreating and crossing themselves as he widens the berth of his thighs. She watches the veins of the hands that could easily pick her up and caress her like a doll (she wouldn’t mind that, either) as they clench the ends of the armchair, clinging onto the remnants of intimacy he hadn’t quite let go of just yet. 

“You...lynx…” Nick moans, his tongue twisted and the words melting together. 

“What was that?” Naomi smiles up at him.

“You...little... _minx,”_ Nick clarifies in a huff, a lace of lust for _more_ in his voice, but he knows he has to wait his turn before going again. 

She rises up and throws down her underwear, swaying her hands with the momentum and grabbing onto his wrists. 

“Wrangle me in then, Tex, before I get away,” she dares him as she leans in, slapping her hands on top of his. He grins and easily slides his hands from underneath, ropes his arms around her back, and pulls her onto his lap. She bounces, inching closer to his crotch and throwing her own loop around his neck as they lock into a senseless, yet fulfilling kiss.

“And where would you go?” 

“I dunno, can never seem to be away from you for too long before feeling a little...lost,” she admits, scrunching her eyebrows together as she realizes, has it really taken her this long to admit that to him? 

She can only hope and somehow already knows that he feels the same way. 

Meanwhile, Nick’s hands travel down to squeeze her butt cheeks, his fingers just scraping the crevice that separates them.

“Looks like some coconuts fell from the tree,” he observes with a sweetly innocent tone, and she giggles into his breath. 

“I think the grass on the other side might need some tending to.”

“Oh, is that so?” 

“Mm-hmm.”

“Well, guess I’m gonna have to mow it down, then…” he sighs though he’s not disappointed in the slightest, showing another feat of strength as he rises from the chair to toss her onto the mattress of their bed. She laughs as she bounces against the pillows, at first curling into herself before she sprawls out, letting him take in the sight of his fallen angel spreading her wings and luring him in with her shining corpse’s eyes, bared teeth in a contagious beam that spreads their lips into matching smiles. 

His hands drift onto her thighs, they’re so big that they almost wrap around the flesh entirely, he drums the sides with her fingers, watching her flesh dance in a light sway before he lifts them up to his waist and he steps onto the bed with one knee. He bends down, lifts the thigh onto his shoulder.

He waggles his eyebrows at her, she can see his devilish smile in his eyes as his head lowers between her legs, and something soft, fleshy, and _wet_ slides between the folds of her vulva. 

She moans in delight as he starts off slow, teasing her by avoiding her clitoris and instead focusing on her labia--she always appreciated how knowledgeable he was on the subject of her body and though she tended not to dwell on how certain aspects of his job as an investigator may have prepared him for it and how he might be viewing it with a more clinical lens, she still admires the care he takes of her regardless. 

His fingers tease into the forest of her pubic hair, she feels the bristles of his beard gently scratch the surface of her thigh as he pushes deeper, spreading her apart further--she stretches to her absolute limit and crosses her feet onto his back, grips the top of his head as she assists in his descent.

“Nicky…” she moans as his licks get faster, she gets hotter, _wetter,_ yelping in sheer delight when he does finally pay attention to the neglected tip--a shiver erupts, she clamps her thighs together out of reflex, completely engulfing his head. She can hear his muffled moans layers beneath her own, her voice deepening as far down as he is within her--

She feels his body buck up, a wave of her fluid passing into him and he lifts his head, gasping for air. 

“I...luh-love you,” he pants as he rests his head down on her pelvis, one hand still trapped beneath a sandwich of her body and his, the other hand flopping onto her tingling thigh. Her body melts into a puddle, but she finds the will to run her fingers up through his hair, petting him as a sign of gratitude and affection.

“I love you, too,” she breathes. “So. Much.”

If she didn’t know any better, she’d think she was about to start crying. 

But that doesn’t happen, even when she gave birth to the life they created together--she somehow feels lesser though she was often told crying was a show of inferiority.

Not by Nick, though. Never by sweet, gentle Nick who often cried on nights like this, but not out of sadness, instead it was a weep of joy. A weep of a love neither of them ever thought they would find in each other or anybody else, for that matter. 

After a couple more minutes of recovery, Nick pulls and holds himself up with his hands planted on both sides of her body. Their breath syncs, heavy, deep from the bellows of their lungs and laced with awe of what they can accomplish for each other, even after years of practice. 

“It was nice,” Naomi is the first to break the silence. “Having you inside me.” 

He laughs wryly, ever admiring the naive bluntness to her words. 

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. It was nice having you tend to lil’ Stoker down there.” 

“Speaking of which...if you wanted to give him a turn...I...wouldn’t mind…” she posits with a tilt in her head, a slight pout to her lower lip. 

“Yeah?” he asks excitedly in a breathless voice.

“Yeah. Time to bring the horse to the stable.”

“You’re really leaning into this cowboy analogy, ain’tcha?” 

“Shut up and fuck me, Stokes.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Nick obliges, crawling closer and she welcomes him by grabbing both sides of his face, squeezing his cheeks and pulling his face against her’s. His hands slide around, cupping a fist full of hair at the top of her head. 

She can feel the bulging flesh dancing between their crotches quickly turning into a thick conduit of creation that slides into her lubricated vagina. He thrusts back and forth as he laps around her mouth with his tongue--

“Harder--Nick--” she gasps when they pause for air.

She starts to writhe as she gets a hit of pleasure, a hit of pain, the comforting discomfort of full penetration. She wanted Nick inside of her and damn if he wasn’t--

“Harder!” she shouts through the corners of her lips and he growls at her as he increases his pace and force, his hands falling from her hair to push down on her shoulders, keeping her in place.

Nick grunts as he arches upwards, a sharply pained hiss seething through gritted teeth as he bites down on Naomi’s lip--she groans in throbbing pain as he releases, letting out a cry as he lifts his head--

“Fuck! My back…” he mutters. 

“Roll over,” Naomi commands, squeezing her eyes shut, she’s too damn close, she ain’t letting him give this up so easily--

She grips onto his shoulders, his muscles flex as he digs his hands underneath her, scooping her as she twists them--she feels his penis slide out but falls on top of it when they land in the final degree of their rotation.

She plants her hands in a furious growl on the sides of Nick’s face as she feels him somehow slip out completely--it’s not often she allows herself to get so frustrated, especially when she’s in the lead. Her fingers inch their way towards his neck, clawing into his skin--She hears his struggles for air--

But when she opens her eyes, he’s not there.

“What--”

She spins around, covering her chest with a tentative arm, mouth agape as she finds him. 

In pictures.

On the enlarged case board on the wall in front of her. 

Though it’s more like a case _wall,_ the cork board stretches across of it entirely, covered in pictures of the killer’s victims and pinned together with connections that led to nothing but dead ends--although all the strings seem to converge on one picture in particular, one of Nick, spread eagle on a bed, just like the one they were consummating on. 

“N-Nick?” she stammers, walking towards the photo as if he would just spring to life and jump into the palm of her hand, she’d clutch him to her chest, utter a hundred apologies for his falling into the part of her world she never meant for him to see--but she should have known better, they were doomed for the start, he was bound to get involved in such an intensely personal case on her behalf--

While he doesn’t necessarily free himself out of the picture, he does seem to come to life in a way--begging for her help.

“Naomi!” Nick screams, and she’s helpless as she stares into his eyes, paling a shade lighter than her own, all life fading away in the polaroid capture of his corpse. 

A scream starts to spiral up her own throat but it’s caught by the sensation of a presence behind her, wrapping slithering arms around her chest, her throat. Tight strings of yarn wrap around her wrists, her ankles, her neck binding her to the board, to Nick. A voice, whispering, feminine, sultry, _dangerous._

“He’s _mine.”_

A claim on a life that belongs to nobody, not anymore, because she took it from her. 

_Veronica_ took him. 

And now she’s too late. Powerless. 

Alone.

_“And so are you.”_

“Naomi?”

Her neck is strained, her spine burns as her eyes snap open. Nick stands with his arms crossed, though he’s sagging in exhaustion, dressed not in the flannel of the past but the comforting Cowboys shirt of the future, the plaid pattern now loosely draped over his legs in a long pair of pants. He has a pair of glasses sliding on the tip of his nose, she wonders if he saw the same memory she did in the reflection of the looking glass. 

With any luck, he didn’t see the nightmare that followed. He has enough of his own that haunt him.

“Are you coming to bed?” he asks wearily, his fingers curling into fists that she knows he wants to use to knead the itching bags under his eyes. 

She lifts her head, sees the frown on his face as he knows they’ve fallen into the same nightly routine and already knew the answer before he asked the question. 

_No, I have work to do._

_Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute._ (Which is a bold face lie.)

_Go on without me, don’t wait up._

She hates this. Hates that she’s been unable to satisfy him. Satisfy herself. He doesn’t deserve this, he deserves a loving wife who’s there for him, not an obsessive workaholic chasing nightmares. 

She turns to her laptop, hears a sigh of resignation from her husband as he begins to mutter “goodnight” but the word catches in a low gasp as she shuts the computer closed. 

She stares at the empty void of the wall in front of her, her eyes drift up to the pictures to stimulate her suddenly vacant mind. More snapshots of happier times, more memories flood the entanglement of stress in her brain, easing her and relaxing her and reminding her that she’s at home.

Naomi’s safe.

And more importantly, _Nick’s_ safe. 

And their child, Parker, is safe. 

They’re all _safe._

She sighs, gulping the dry lump lodged in her trachea, the scar across her neck throbbing and itching, robbing her of the strength to stand. Her lips dare to quiver and she looks to her savior in a rare plea, because she’s still working overtime to replace the image of him in her mind with one such as this, more tender, and more _alive._

“Carry me?” she asks in a small voice, shifting her legs uncomfortably, there’s a dampness she needs to take care of but she feels there are more pressing matters at hand.

“Oh, honey,” Nick melts, his eyebrows curving and making her heart throb as she sees the lines on her face fold at her whim. “C’mere…”

He scoops her up, and with ease carries her as she curls up into his embrace, relishing the tender grip he holds on her, his fingers splayed out onto her thigh. 

“Last time I carried you like this was our honeymoon,” he mutters into her hair as he cradles his head on top of hers.

“Always the traditional man,” she murmurs back. “That’s what I love about you.”

“If I started talking about all the things I love about _you,_ we’d be up all night,” he whispers as they pass by Parker’s bedroom.

“I was hoping we’d be up all night anway,” Naomi yawns. 

“Is that so?” Nick chuckles quietly. “What’s gotten into you all of the sudden?”

“Don’t know, just...making up for lost time, I guess. I know I’ve been...occupied--”

_Obsessed._

“--lately.”

“It’s okay, love,” Nick whispers with a kiss to her ear.

He lays her down on the bed before he lifts a leg up and quickly hops over her so that he could spoon her from behind--their usual sleeping position but as she told him, she was hoping for a longer conversation. She flips over to face him and a small, but tired smile spreads his lips. She cups her hand on the side of his face, strokes the bristles of his beard with her thumb. His ears perk up, his eyes shining, telling her that he’s ready to listen.

He’s the best listener she’s ever talked to.

“I had a...bad dream,” she admits sheepishly, though it’s not uncommon for either of them. She sighs, as his eyes had lost color, lost life and she stares at the ceiling, praying that her mind can turn as blank as the matted surface hanging above their heads. 

“Well--not all of it was bad, I guess,” she adds in reflection of the memory of one of their most intimate nights, playing out the happier, true ending in her head that led to an unfortunate misconception.

“What was your dream about?”

She turns her face towards him, studies his expression of genuine intrigue before she rolls on top of him, straddles his waist. His face melts into a relaxed, but almost fearful tightness as she hasn’t done anything like this in well, far too long for either of their liking.

She reaches her hands behind her, stroking the slides of his thighs, before abruptly slapping the thick slabs of meat and feeling them jiggle beneath her butt cheeks. 

“This,” she smiles with mischievous glee, and he pulls her in and begins to ravage her face, her neck, her chest with kisses with such a pace as if it were the last time he’d be able to.

Their movements aren’t as rough, as intense as the ones conjured in her subconscious, but they’re still brimming with passion and intimacy nonetheless. 

And when she wakes up the next morning, he’s still besides her, their hands and legs and bodies tangled and mangled in the bed sheets that neither of them are in a hurry to straighten out. 


End file.
